The Prince Frog
by azure-tears
Summary: Cartman's brilliant plan to win over Wendy is to convince her he and Kyle are an item. Girls dig wussy emo boys, right? Now she'll give him the right time of day...unless Stan's got something to say about it. And he definitely does.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park and y'all can thank BratChild2 for this story. She screamed at me to write it and so, uh, here it is. Enjoy?

The Prince Frog

Chapter One: Trickery

Dead air filled his ears and Stan Marsh folded his arms across his chest to survey the scene. Closing his cerulean eyes, he pinched his nostrils shut; maybe if he steadied his breathing and opened his eyes again, the world would return to normal. Then his best friend would stand next to him and they'd be making fun of Cartman together. Not this, definitely not this.

Folding his legs beneath him, he sat and forced himself to glance down. A shudder ran through him and he had to pinch his nostrils again. Cartman was _not _down there with his best friend like they were lovers. It made no sense and even Kenny acknowledged it. So, the question became- how the hell did this happen? Moreover, how was he going to put a stop to it?

**…**

"This _sucks_, Cartman," Kyle growled in an undertone, green eyes flashing angrily. "Why the hell would you want to be _pretend_ to be gay, anyway?"

The rotund fourteen year old smirked and wrapped a chubby arm around his "lover". Above, on the hill, Stan burned with jealousy and Cartman relished every second of it. It was just a delightful bonus to his brilliant plan. The truly sad thing was deep down, he wasn't entirely certain he was pretending. The thought scared him.

"Because, dumbass, no one _cares _if you're straight anymore. All the girls love gay boys and if I want Wendy, I have to act the part," he declared proudly, but not quite loud enough for Stan to hear them. He'd deliberately avoided mentioning his "brilliant plan" to anyone other than Kyle. Otherwise, someone might (a), figure out something fishy was going on and (b), realize Kyle was being blackmailed. He'd taken pictures of him in a compromising situation and altered them significantly. If Kyle opened his "big fat Jew mouth", he'd be humiliated.

"If you kiss me one more time, fatass, I swear to God I'm going to kick you in the balls and leave you rotting," Kyle muttered in response. His stomach clenched painfully. Cartman was always smiling after he tricked him into it and sometimes, he swore he licked his lips. Like Stan above, he shuddered. He didn't want to really think about it unless he liked vomiting.

"Then the whole town would see you and Stan-"

"Shut up, I'll do it," Kyle muttered, not for the first time. _I hate you._

"Good," Cartman smirked. He yanked a stray curl out under his hat and then shoved it back in, surprisingly gentler than Kyle expected. He blinked, taken aback, until Cartman yet again insulted his religion. Just a fluke, he decided. Nothing more.

**…**

Free from the façade for another day, Eric Cartman paused over an old photograph of the four gathered together. His gloved finger unconsciously outlined Kyle's face and he grimaced, shoving the picture unceremoniously back and covering it in clothes. Once that was accomplished, he punched the drawer back into place. He honestly didn't know what the fuck was wrong with him.

Clyde Frog, trapped under another clothing pile, stared expressionlessly up at him. Years ago, he'd forced himself to stop talking to him unless it was a dire emergency. Too many times had others walked in "private therapy" and it led to far too many good opportunities for blackmail. Most notable was Butters, catching him a record seven times. He hadn't thought the blond boy was _smart _enough.

Yet despite being caught, he couldn't bring himself to be rid of him. Clyde represented security otherwise unattainable and brought him bizarre comfort. He knew his true self and would never betray him, no matter what. He never ripped on him because of his weight and always lent a sympathetic ear. In a sense, Clyde was his only friend.

Feh, he didn't need friends anyway. All he needed was money and Wendy. He didn't even need Kyle, but dating himself was too pathetic for even him to attempt. Girls dug sensitive emo bitches, especially ones making out with other emo whores. Wendy never even gave him the right time of day; surely she'd love him if she saw him necking Kyle. (Ah, Cartman logic).

Puffing his chest out proudly, he posed in front of the mirror. Unfortunately, the mirror happened to be on the back of his door and when his mother entered without knocking, it hit him right in the forehead. Rubbing his sore spot, he glared and stumbled out of the way before he became a flattened little cream puff. Goddamn it, he wasn't eight anymore. Why couldn't she knock?

"Oh, sorry, sweetie," Mrs. Cartman said absently, laying freshly laundered sheets on his bed. "Mommy's very busy lately."

"So that's why you slam a goddamn door in my face?" he retorted, hoping if he ranted enough, she'd dote on him like before. Since his mother found a new boyfriend (who hated kids, incidentally), she'd spent increasingly less time around her son and was almost never home. However, in the quiet mountain town of South Park, the chances of his coming to harm by being left home alone were slim, just about the same as if she was there. Things happened because of inattentive or absent parents and it didn't seem to matter which one happened.

The phone rang and Lianne Cartman darted out to answer, leaving Eric to glare in her absence. Why was it he found himself spoken to only in lieu of the telephone? What was so important about that guy, anyway? They shared open animosity and didn't care who knew it. Yet, despite their gripes, she pretended not to notice. It grated on his nerves- he was her _son_, he should have all the attention, not some stupid boytoy.

And he _would _get all the attention, just she waited. She might be able to ignore him now, but when he brought Kyle home as his boyfriend, all hell would break loose. Oh, what fun _that _would be.

**…**

Kyle Broflovski itched to pick up the phone and call Stan, but at the last split second, his fingers dropped the receiver instead. He'd never gone so long without speaking with his best friend and the separation killed him. But if he called him, he knew the first thing out of his mouth would be about him and Cartman and he'd have no choice but to tell him the truth. He was stuck and he hated every second of it.

Ike, now nine and muttering uncouth things about fourth grade, wandered past his foster brother and watched him interestedly. He'd grown accustomed to seeing Stan around- if Stan wasn't here, Kyle was almost always at his house. To see the two separated upset the natural order of things. He blinked at him.

"Aren't you going to call him?" Ike asked, glancing between the receiver and Kyle. Kyle, in an unconscious mimic of Stan, pinched his nostrils shut and clenched his eyes closed. He didn't answer his little brother but instead cast a contemptuous look at the offending electronic as though _it _had blackmailed him instead of Cartman.

Stomping upstairs, he muttered, "Stupid Cartman."

**…**

Kenny McCormick knew something was up. He always did. And, nine times out of ten, that something involved Cartman. Unfortunately, until he pinpointed what that something _was_, he knew better than to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

He sat on the steps of his rundown house and listened to his parents argue for the umpteenth time this week. While most children might have found this unsettling, he considered it good entertainment. They always ended up reconciling anyway. (Though that detracted from the entertainment value). Right now, the current issue was his father drinking away his life savings. Kenny, who hadn't known they had _anything _saved to begin with, wasn't terribly surprised.

Glancing up the street, he smirked. Despite his house being only slightly further than Cartman's, he'd never sojourned there unless someone forced him. If Stan and Kyle were supposed to be best friends, then where did that leave him with Cartman? Well, on the bright side, at least his thoughts weren't remotely similar to his. Otherwise, he might want to consider dying and staying that way.

Butters lived further down the road and he smirked at the thought. They might have aged, but some things never changed. Butters was still a pussy in their eyes and his parents, as far as Kenny knew, still invested in occasional disciplinary beatings. For some odd reason, while he enjoyed his parents' brawls, it pissed him off to hear Butters suffer.

He shrugged, stretching out his legs and settling in for the long run. This one looked like a particularly vicious argument and he didn't want to miss out because his mind wandered to another blond boy. He'd think about Butters later, when he was trying to block out his parents' make up sex. Ugh, old people sex ought to be outlawed.

**…**

Wendy Testaburger curled up on the couch and switched on her favorite movie. She had no idea what was going on in the mind of a disturbed adolescent and truthfully, had no interest at the moment. While Cartman occasionally flashed through her mind, it was usually accompanied by annoyance. Yet when she thought of kissing him in public in fourth grade, she couldn't force that emotion on it. She still smiled at the memory and then scolded herself afterwards for thinking of him as anything but a jerk.

Just look at the way he treats his so-called friends, she'd remind herself impatiently. Had she ever witnessed anything friendly between them? Well, no, but then again, boys weren't always easy to figure out. They'd spent a vast majority of their time teasing each other unmercifully. The only girls she knew like that were malicious and definitely _not _her friends.

Yet if she called those girls "bitches" and never associated with them and Cartman was similar, why the hell couldn't she stop thinking about him? Pounding the remote into a cushion, she wished she could focus on something else.

**…**

Stan Marsh waited for the call that never came. Though his fingers itched to dial Kyle's number and hear the familiar voice flood his ears, he decided if he wasn't going to let him, then why should he bother? Flinging a pillow at his cordless, he glared at the phone. Yards away, Kyle was doing the exact same thing.

**…**


	2. Liquid Dreams

Disclaimer: South Park belongs to the great and benevolent Matt Stone and Trey Parker. Oh, and remember that song in the chapter title? Hint, hint, wink, wink.

Chapter Two: Liquid Dreams

Stanley Marsh awoke with a sour taste in his mouth. Not only wouldn't the taste leave him, but a nightmare of Kyle making out with Cartman practically suffocated him. Throwing aside the sheets, he innately sprang to the phone beside his bed and dialed the numbers. Soon, Kyle's soothing voice would placate him and scoff at this notion. They'd mock Cartman openly, rip on him repeatedly, and then, after laughing everything off, hang up smiling.

Unquestioningly, this was the way of the universe. Yet, when he heard the words flowing out of his best friend's mouth, he nearly dropped the receiver in shock. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and sat utterly dumbstruck. His brain functioned sluggishly in the morning and now, it barely slithered onward.

"Cartman? Listen, you fat fuck; I _told _you I'd agree! You don't have to wake me up and remind me!" Kyle snapped, cracking his knuckles threateningly. In the background, Stan heard Ike banging angrily on his door. Veiled threats transmitted, muffled but still valid.

"Kyle?" Stan inquired sheepishly, preventing another string of curses. On the other side, Kyle blinked, wishing he hadn't jumped the gun. What was his problem, anyway? Cartman wasn't _awake_ at seven a.m., much less delivering ultimatums. Paranoia had sunk its grappling hooks into him and clutched for dear life.

"Oh," was all Kyle said and outside, Ike banged harder. Once again, Kyle ignored him and the vague unsettling sensation in the pit of his stomach. Insides, words screamed, just on the tip of his tongue. Leaving Stan out of the loop had never been an issue before and now, all of a sudden, he couldn't tell him anything. The lack of communication destabilized him and their relationship.

" 'Oh'? Is that all you have to say? Why the hell would you think I was Cartman, anyway? Why do you keep ignoring me in school and-" Stan began, but never finished. The wheels churned speedily in his head and he discovered the conclusions displeased him, like Kyle's next act.

"Uh…I think there's a call on the other line. I'll see you later!" Kyle replied brusquely and promptly following was the dial tone. Not only had he brushed him off, but he'd hung up on him as well. He didn't know what was going on, but he didn't like it one bit.

**…**

Eric Cartman tossed and turned in his sleep. Disturbingly vivid and somewhat erotic (like softcore porn) dreams of him and Wendy endlessly chased scenes of him and Kyle. By the time seven fifteen hit, he jolted up and panted, eyes wild. He hadn't the faintest clue what his subconscious pestered him about, but he yearned to snap at it to shut the fuck up. He hated psychoanalyzing himself and complex dreams tended to eat away at him. They held an appeal unmatched by any school subject.

Throwing the sheets aside, he winced and reminded himself to order his mother to wash them. When he arrived at school, he'd order Kyle to stay away from his dreams and that'd be that. Jews probably astral projected themselves into people's dreams all the time. You just had to catch them at it.

However implausible the theory was, there were some flaws he couldn't argue away. Even _if _Kyle could project himself into his dreams, he'd never have started the risqué things he did nor would he have plunged his tongue down his throat. Kyle enjoyed the occasional mind game to combat his, but he had _morals _and he'd never sink as low as Cartman's imagination. No, this wasn't entirely Kyle's fault, damn it. There were other forces at work here.

Donning his usual, he shrugged inconsequentially and waltzed downstairs. Some things couldn't be thought of on an empty stomach and this was one of them. He'd think better with sugary pancakes satiating him.

**…**

Kenny McCormick stared up at his white ceiling and its sight woke him far more effectively than any alarm. Starkness reminded him of his situation and stifling a yawn, he stretched luxuriously before rising to his feet. Like Cartman, Kenny's dreams were not exactly atypical, but he'd enjoyed himself greatly. Far be it for him to judge a person solely on their attractions; he reasoned if fun was to be had, it didn't matter who gave it.

Cramming a blue parka (he alternated colors occasionally and this one reminded him of another blond classmate) on, he smirked. Though the thought of pestering him tempted, he ultimately decided against it. In the long run, however, he'd find himself too distracted to remember his dreams at all.

**…**

Leopold** "**Butters" Stotch awoke like every other day; his alarm competed with his parents for the loudest scream. Blearily wiping sleep from his eyes, he strained to recall a dream just out of reach. It'd be so pleasant too, if only he remembered. But like water in cupped hands, it escaped him quicker than he could hold onto it.

"Butters!" His father screeched and the blonde haired teen shrugged helplessly, unable to recapture anything but the fleeting happiness he'd experienced. A kiss on the cheek, maybe, but the shadow figure blurred and faded into oblivion. Lest he further anger his parents, he decided to simply give up. If it was important, he'd have remembered it.

Throwing a cerulean t-shirt over his lanky frame, he hustled down the stairs before his father opened his mouth again. On the way down, he nearly stumbled and his father's expression never faltered. Omnipresent disapproval and what he'd long thought was upset over a wasted child. Even with those dark thoughts lingering, he forced a smile. Darkness never solved anything.

"Did you do your homework?" he demanded, cocking an eyebrow at his wife. Butters fidgeted uncomfortably, knocking his knuckles together. He'd been doing it so long; the mild pain didn't bother him. Instead of answering him, his eyes slid over the orange juice and fresh waffles by his place. A kiss…a figure…

"Butters!" His mother snapped, jumping to conclusions already. She slammed the pitcher on the table so hard the juice lapped its sides. If anyone else noticed, they gave no indication. Butters continued to fidget, now more nervous than ever. Who _was _that shadowed figure? Boy or girl? Was it someone he knew? Or just an echo of his imagination? When he was five, he used to have an imaginary friend…

"Y-yes, ma'am," he stuttered, reaching gratefully for a waffle. At least with his mouth crammed, it'd be difficult to be punished for silence. Then again, his parents often made no sense. He tried to live peaceably with them and their insane rules, but sometimes he found it cumbersome. Like right now, considering his sore backside…and those soulful eyes…what color were they?

"_Did _you do your homework?" his father snapped, tone severe. Unconsciously, he cowered in his hard backed chair. A piece of waffle lodged in his throat and he blinked, swallowing to no avail. He had the feeling his father would let him choke on the waffle rather than stop his questioning. If Butters were less naïve and more like Stan, Kyle, Kenny, or Cartman, he might hate his parents. But he knew no better.

Gulping orange juice guiltily, he willed his voice not to waver. He loathed lying; especially its consequences, but he _hadn't _done his homework. He'd spent three hours staring hopefully at Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman in turn, praying they'd call him over. They never did and he spent the rest of the night donning his Professor Chaos outfit (he'd altered it since he was eight to fit his growing frame) and imagining what he'd do to them. His ideas always sounded more devious in his head than aloud.

Stuffing three waffles in his mouth at once and darting from the table, he shoved his chair back in. His bag awaited him; its straps beckoned invitingly. He'd never flat out run to the bus previously, but today the idea compelled him. He didn't want to hear another lecture about why he had no friends or why he should stop clinging to the idea of the quartet. Starting out a day like that seemed terribly ominous. (That figure…stroking his face and hair…promising him protection and love…)

Their words reverberated around the house, but Butters took no notice. Snatching his satchel, he hastily masticated the last of his belated breakfast and blasted out the door. His parents merely observed coolly, mentally noting to bring this up later. For now, it was far too early in the morning to trail their disobedient son.

**…**

Kyle Broflovski bade his baby brother adieu and shoved his mittened hands into his jacket. It was a cold, clear day in Stan's "quiet little mountain town" and only the sound of freshly crunched snow answered his icy, visible breath. The bus would not arrive for a good fifteen minutes and in the meanwhile, he treasured his solitude. Its presence lasted briefly, unfortunately; Stan's footfalls commenced behind him and the raven haired boy stood, unable to greet his longtime friend. Instead, he glared at the back of his hat as though _it _had insinuated relations beyond friendship with Cartman.

The Jewish boy shrugged noncommittally, cursing Cartman inwardly for inadvertently causing this drift. Yet while he cursed him, he knew better than to even think of bringing this up around him. He'd laugh his head off. Fury against him rose and he, accidentally grinding them, clenched his teeth.

"Where's your _lover_," Stan accused, folding his arms across his chest and facing him. "Isn't it 'til death do us part or haven't you written the vows yet?"

Kyle said nothing. Words bounced back from his tongue to his brain and back again. He yearned to snap every detail of Cartman's plan at him, but he shrugged instead. Remorsefully, nothing proves guilt like silence. Stan immediately jumped the gun.

"I can't believe you'd leave me out of something _this _important!" he snapped, pacing furiously. Kyle pitied him and, once again, he longed to explain everything. Stan didn't deserve to be put through this torture, especially not by him. Yet revealing Cartman would reveal more than he could afford to lose.

"What's the matter? Having a lover's spat?" Cartman crooned, arriving on the scene with a smirk. He flipped off the redheaded boy; Kyle and Stan recognized a tirade in the making. And after years of suffering his company, they were seldom wrong.

"We're not lovers!" Kyle and Stan proclaimed in unison, but there were distinctly different tones. Both blinked, staring at the other. The vehemence in Kyle's voice was directed at Cartman, not Stan, but he misunderstood it. Conversely, Kyle wondered at Stan's apparent dejection and possible jealousy.

"What_ever_," he replied; clearly indicating he couldn't care less. "Just keep your Jew body out of my dreams."

Unseen, virtually unheard, Kenny crept up on the three. A broad smirk covered his face, but behind the safety of his hoodie, it remained invisible. He rubbed his hands together- this sounded good. Too good to alert them to his presence yet.

"What the hell are you talking about, fatass? The only way I'd be in your dreams was if I was kicking your ass!" Kyle retorted, temper getting the better of him. Stan smirked, placated. If Kyle and Cartman were trading insults, then everything _was _right with the world. False alarm.

Ignoring the barb, he replied smoothly, "That wasn't _exactly _what you were doing with my ass."

The color drained swiftly in Kyle's face and his knuckles turned completely white. Though he struggled to maintain composure, his anxiety displayed itself prominently. When Stan stared worriedly at him, his green eyes stared right past him. The raven haired boy trembled, disturbed.

"Liar," he growled. "Fucking liar!"

Stan blinked, alarmed. "Dude, it was just a dream. Chill out."

"If you _ever _touch me like that, Cartman, I swear to God I'll-"

"You'll what? You were the one doing all the touching, Jew boy," Cartman countered, shoving the others aside to climb aboard the bus first. Wendy sat in the far back and he winked exaggeratedly at her. She huffed and glanced out the window.

"Never knew you liked it in the ass, Cartman," Kenny snickered. "Maybe you and Mr. Slave should get together."

Scarlet, the tables turned unpleasantly, he mumbled something unintelligible and slammed himself in a three seater. Remarkably, he only took up two of those three seats. The others filed in behind him- none of them spoke the whole ride.

**…**

**Replies to reviews!**

**Brat Child2**- Lol, actually that line is in reference to a conversation a friend and I had regarding our parents having sex and us walking in on it. Yeah…she's not reading this, but that was the comment made.

I really didn't want to write this, as you know. I was terrified you'd hate it and then I'd have wasted a good hour coming up with that much. But no matter how much I hesitated, you kept shoving and shoving. Well, heh, I hope you like the end result. And yes, you _did _scare me.

Heh, thanks.

**Kehl**- Tragically, perhaps due to my Leo nature, I do not take slight insults well. I spent about twenty minutes deliberating over your "somewhat predictable" comment. This is my first South Park fanfic, give me a break. I didn't even want to write it, but BratChild2 demanded it. I'm sorry if you find it pedantic, but I was terrified of writing an idea someone has already done.

Moving on…thanks for reviewing. I'm glad you enjoyed it, even if I spent twenty minutes antagonizing over those two words.

**Pointy-Eared Archer**- Trite reviews are all right, really. I was absolutely certain I'd get none other than BratChild2's, so your review relieved me. I'm still waiting for the inevitable flames, but as I said to a close friend of mine, I'm sure those will come when I least expect or desire them.

Well, I do appreciate your encouragement. Every little bit helps, you know.

**Lilchicky004**- Why, thank you. You're not the only one to surmise on the plot. I believe the fact writing is my outlet (as well as reading) will help this story further.

Sadly, Cartman _may _have had a point there. A lot of girls go for emo guys and I learned the hard way that pussy guys aren't really my bag of tricks. They're far too wimpy.

Well, thanks for putting me on your faves already. I really do appreciate it.

**Anime Qtie**- Well, this wasn't _that _quickly, but I digress. Working on TOS alternatively will lead to delays on other things, considering the length of those chapters.

And thanks.

**total misanthrope**- A late review is better than none at all. Heh, thanks. And I've got the time now, before I go to school. I think I'm going to be working on Yom Kippor and Rosh Hashanah, sadly. Those are school holidays and unless I'm bogged down by schoolwork, I'll have to use them. (Even though they _are _High Holy days).

**SugarHigh Zombie**- Cockroaches ruling the world? That was a Fairly Oddparents episode. And at least you didn't have time to blow up. I updated the same day you reviewed. (winks)

**Well, that's it for now. Please continue to read and review! I thank you guys in advance.**

**Until me and my Jew boy meet again…**


	3. Falling

Disclaimer: Not now, nor ever will be mine.

Chapter Three: Falling

Butters nervously knocked his knuckles together and hesitantly slid in next to Kenny. His blue eyes scanned the perimeters constantly as though this simple act would mean instant death. Kenny smirked, though he noted the new bruises on his cheek. Perhaps the reason for his profound jumpiness had more to do with his home life than simply sitting by him. Then again, he _was _known as a pervert by many. And that theory would have held up but for one reason- Butters hadn't looked at him when he sat down. Kenny wasn't certain he knew he was there at all.

Clenching his fists, he wondered whether he ought to risk relaxing his hands or not. His fingers yearned to stroke the bruises and he longed snap about injustice to someone so adorable. In fact, he opened his mouth- then the sight of Kyle, Cartman, and Stan trooping in shut it rapidly. Butters temporarily forgotten (though the sound of his knuckles crashing together was still heard), he directed his attention at the threesome.

Stan kept shooting glares at both Kyle and Cartman, but he looked more bewildered than upset. He whispered something to Kyle but before the redheaded boy responded, Cartman answered for him. Kyle and Stan appeared thoroughly dejected and Cartman, as usual, lorded over them. The thing that disturbed Kenny was not Cartman's usual authoritative position but Kyle and Stan's separation. It was far too out of the ordinary.

Loping an arm around him, Cartman flashed another grin at Wendy. Wendy's eyes darted furtively towards Stan, stormy gray eyes flashing at the overweight boy. Her eyes lingered on him and Kyle, jade eyes wavering miserably. She didn't know what was going on here, but she didn't like it one bit. Instead, of smiling in response, she flipped him off.

Cartman growled, clutching Kyle painfully tight. He whimpered and started to snap a response, but a muttered threat silenced him effectively. Now Kenny and Wendy weren't the only ones staring. Butters stopped knocking his knuckles together, Bebe stopped talking, and Clyde tore his attention from Tweak. In a matter of seconds, the entire class scrutinized the three like they'd never seen them before.

Cartman, naturally, took this opportunity to make an announcement. Kissing Kyle roughly on the lips, he ignored his squirms and pressed his tongue against his lips. The color drained from Stan's face and he nearly missed his seat on the way to sit down. His knuckles were as white as the desk and Kenny offered him a sympathetic smile he never saw.

"May I present my new boyfriend?" he smirked, massaging his back. Stan passed out.

**…**

"Are you happy, fat ass?" Kyle growled, leaning over his best friend. Knuckles just as white as him, he opened his hand to stroke his face, but Cartman slapped it away. All the class scrutinized them and whispers erupted. Cartman reveled in them and Kyle thought he might be sick.

"Well, how was _I _supposed to know the faggot would faint?" Cartman hissed back and caught the concern and love in Kyle's eyes. Biting back a painful gasp, he satisfied himself by punching Stan hard in the face. Kyle moved to strike back, but Stan awoke before he could.

Coughing and sputtering, Stan was too pissed to notice Kyle jabbing Cartman in the stomach. Instead, he shoved them both away and stood shakily to his feet. Kyle offered him a hand, but he glowered in response. Gathering his things, he moved in the back with Butters and Kenny. The hurt on Kyle's face lingered in Kenny's mind for a long time to come.

**…**

"Why didn't you tell me?" Stan hissed on the lunch line. "What were you thinking? What the hell is _wrong _with you? We're best friends, damn it! Why didn't you tell me?"

Kyle sighed, having already endured this type of speech for the duration of the morning. The secret burned within him and whenever he broached the subject, Cartman mysteriously appeared. He wanted to kill him, he truly did. If only that stupid android hadn't developed empathy in third grade- they could have been rid of him years ago. Then he wouldn't have to endure Stan's tirades and this aching separation.

He'd never been so close and yet so far from him. Every time he contemplated telling him and perhaps forging a force against him, Cartman elbowed him in the back. They'd always been tight and now, thanks to his latest scheme, there was a gap the size of the Grand Canyon. Swallowing hard, he ignored the butterflies in his stomach.

_You think I **enjoyed** having his lips all over me this morning? _Kyle yearned to roar. His lips trembled to screech it to everyone and cram his plan where it belonged, straight up his ass. Unbidden, Kenny's comment about his dreams surfaced and he swallowed rising bile. Maybe that wasn't exactly what he wanted there. Ugh.

"What's the matter, faggot? Jealous?" Cartman crooned, wrapping his arms around his waist. Kenny, examining his four dollars woefully, stuffed them back into his parka pocket and shot him a look. Unfortunately, whatever mental message he sent bounced back (_probably_, he thought, _because there's no such address_) and he continued.

"I bet you'd love to slide your hands under his jacket like this," he taunted, slipping his own hands underneath. Kyle turned green and fought a wave of nausea. _The journal, _he reminded himself steely before he vomited, _the journal._

"And feel him up like _this_." Grinning widely, he squeezed his rear. Stan's face shone like the setting sun and Kenny almost pitied Cartman. The envy nearly blinded people. If he didn't watch his step, he'd blurt it out.

However, Kenny needn't have worried. Kyle, a violet shade of green, shoved him away and ran to the bathroom to retch.

**…**

Stan stood outside the bathroom and pounded his fist against the brick wall. Crowds mullioned outside- lunch had ended a few minutes ago. When Kyle had broken away from Cartman, Stan followed at a distance. Despite his roiling fury, his concern outweighed anything else. However, it stilled him and kept him here. Part of him wondered whether Kyle was truly sick and if it indeed stemmed from Cartman.

Leaping nimbly aside in the nick of time, reflexes enabled Stan to catch him before he hit the floor. Kyle hung limply in his arms and muttered something about "never touching the fatass again as long as I live" and "fuck that journal". A stream of curses directed at him issued forth and Stan blinked, propping him up against a nearby locker. Finally, his green eyes cleared and sought his. Stan, far too perplexed to snap, scrutinized him.

"Where's Cartman?" he breathed, eyes sweeping the immediate area like a hawk. He wished he had a breath mint or something- his mouth tasted horrible.

"How the hell should _I _know? I'm not his _boyfriend_," he retorted, folding his arms across his chest. As quickly as his anger died down, it rose again. Desperation lit up the Jewish boy's face and he tentatively placed his hands on either side of his face to keep him from glaring down the hallway. Stan blinked again, befuddled.

"If you _are _his boyfriend, why did you throw up?" he continued, but in a gentler tone. Kyle offered him a twist of the lips and then, glancing to and fro swiftly, sighed heavily. One hand dropped from his face, but the other remained. Against Stan's face, it was soft and comforting.

"I…I'm no-" he began, but Cartman's waddle halted him. _I don't want him- I want **you**. _

The bottom fell out of his stomach and he staggered, leaning heavily against the locker. Honestly, the possibility of having more than friendly feelings for Stan had never entered his mind before. Guiltily, he glanced up, but Stan appeared not to possess telepathy. He breathed slightly easier.

"_What _are you doing?" he growled in his ear and jerked him away. Kyle cast him a hopeless look and shrugged helplessly. Blood pounded in Stan's ears and an inaudible growl escaped him. There was something fishy going on and he would get to the bottom of it.

"If you're hurting Kyle-" he began warningly, but they passed the corner before he finished his threat.

**…**

Butters shuffled his feet and stared at the blacktop. A shadow flitted by, but he ignored it. Sighing heavily, he resigned himself to another lonely recess. The bruises on his face stung to the touch. Mentally, he berated himself for upsetting his parents enough to merit them. Things were always his fault- his parents were just helping him see that.

"I thought they didn't hit you in the face," came a muffled and tactfully restrained voice. Craning his neck, a stray sunbeam struck Kenny and illuminated his golden hair. Despite himself, a blush spread across his cheeks. He looked like a god with his radiant hair and brilliant azure eyes.

His uncovered hand caressed his battered cheek while the other pulled his hoodie down. Butters shivered, blush deepening. He didn't know why, but he liked the attention. Only on the rare occasion was he the recipient of a tender touch. Yet a nagging suspicion lurked.

"Are-aren't you a pervert?" Butters blurted, never one to properly enunciate himself. Kenny rolled his eyes and slung an arm around his shoulders. He could almost cook an egg on the kid's face.

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Kenny replied smoothly, resisting the urge to bask in his reddened visage. Thus, it began.

**…**

Emotions, Eric Cartman decided, were putrid and disgusting. In the past, he relished anger and hatred and none of the so called positive and weaker emotions. Now, unfortunately, he found himself under the grip of the strongest one yet- affection. Glancing at Butters and Kenny, a sick pang of jealousy struck him. Though Butters was far too trusting anyway, Kenny clearly wasn't abusing his power. Eric had never experienced a relationship where he wasn't either in complete control or something close to it. That'd served him well in the past.

But when he looked down at Kyle, he wasn't sure he wanted to keep controlling him. The thought he might be ensnared in his charms unnerved him. When he'd kissed him and pulled him close, he wanted more. His body warmth compelled him...and something else as well. Unbidden, his dreams surfaced and he swallowed hard, remembering all too well what he'd enjoyed then. In his waking hours, he'd never anticipated them to be true desires. Dreams were dreams, usually.

He asked himself not for the first time if this wasn't a real rouse. What if in the process of wooing Wendy, he fell for Kyle? He could already feel himself attracted to him and his brutal nature receding. But it was preposterous. Kyle wasn't anything more than a stupid Jew.

_A stupid Jew you enjoyed kissing..._

Gritting his teeth, he pounded the wall, glared at Kenny and Butters, and then yanked Kyle to his feet. Perhaps more domination would erase the desire to make out with him. Perhaps by lying to himself, he might be able to avoid the consequences.

** Word ate my last scene, so I had to rewrite it. I hope it came out all right...and no replies to reviews, both because I'm tired and because I don't trust anything to keep what I put in. Thanks to everyone who reviewed (all three of you last chapter) and to those who are reading and not reviewing- shame on you!**

**Until we meet again... **


	4. Butterflies

Disclaimer: In honor of Butters' birthday (which, thank you BratChild2), is today, I wrote this. Happy birthday, Butters! We love you! (He's my favorite character now).

South Park is not mine nor ever will be.

Chapter Four: Butterflies

Butters balanced three books on his knee and cautiously propped open his locker to extract still more. The whole pile teetered precariously and the blond haired boy with it. The tomes weighed too much, but he obstinately refused to drop them. Pretending he had more homework than in actuality ensured his parents left him alone until he "finished". It also delved him into study so he forgot the kids playing outside his window and his terrible loneliness.

Straining for the history book in the depths of his blue locker, his knee slipped and he slammed hard against the bottom locker. Books clattered to the floor and he swore mildly (at least, his version of vulgarity). Sighing heavily, he knelt to retrieve them and sprang up, almost banging his head on the open door. A warm hand pressed on the back of his head and an arm encircled him.

"We don't have _that _much homework, you know," Kenny murmured, dragging befuddled Butters reluctantly away from his piles. The heat steamed off his cheeks, but he found himself strangely entranced by his embrace. His right hand buried in his hair and the other massaged circles on his back. Butters heard his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears and wondered if it was so loud, the other boy could hear as well.

"I-I wanted ta get ahead, you know," he replied vaguely, concentrating giddily on his hands. Half forgotten whispers that Kenny was a player and pervert surfaced again, but they were weak and ineffective. Even if he was everything they said, he'd never been treated so tenderly by another person. His breath came in short rasps.

"Are you sure it isn't because Kyle and Stan play touch football outside your house?" he replied, smirking, and one of his hands disappeared under Butters' shirt. Butterflies reverberated in his stomach and his mouth suddenly felt dry. Things were going uncomfortably too far. He pushed away and he cocked an eyebrow. The warm arms were gone and coldness replaced them.

"I-I don't wanna…I mean…if you w-wanna…" His courage failed him and he silently berated himself. Kenny was the first person in a good while to show him any sort of physical affection. What if he never touched him again because he thought he didn't like it? What if he was just playing with his head like Cartman did? What if…

"I'm going too fast?" he smirked, stroking his cheek. Heat lingered and his smirk broadened. Butters was too cute when he was indecisive and terrified of scaring someone off. Still, he had a point, regardless of his verbalization. Notorious hormones started his actions, but common sense would cease them. He didn't want to scare the poor boy off.

"Nuh-uh!" the other protested and winced when his fingers traced a bruise extending from his eye to his cheek. Fury narrowed his eyes to slits and he muttered a curse. Unconsciously, Butters cringed, innately believing the fury directed at him. His father often wore the same look.

"If they ever do _this_," Kenny growled, unable to mask his trembling fingers and blazing eyes, "run away. You shouldn't have to put up with their shit."

Butters flushed and dropped his gaze. An ant crawled across the cold linoleum floor and bypassed his sneakers. He followed its progress for a half minute and frowned, somewhat jealous. Ants didn't have to worry about anything except feet. Sure, everything was huge compared to them, but he knew that feeling. It vanished into a crack and disappeared, a feat he envied greatly. He'd always wondered what it was like to become one with a building and escape civilization.

Raising his gaze eyelevel with the beginning of the wall, Butters spoke to it instead of Kenny. Its white uniformity reminded him of the starkness of his room. Recently, his parents had decided posters were distracting and trashed them. He'd decided then that it was probably a good idea, but rolling the idea over in his head, he wondered if other kids had to put up with all this. Was everything they owned subject to scrutiny? Sure, his parents were just doing their job; he sometimes wished they'd do it a little less.

"But where am I supposed to _go_?" he protested and focused on a brownish stain halfway up. Idly, he mused whether it was mud, pudding, excrement, or leftover paint. Walls told a story if you were forlorn enough to decipher them. Since he spent a vast majority in solitude, he'd already ascribed histories to his walls and spoke of them endlessly to the only people who would listen- his parents. They told him he was being stupid and immediately shot him down.

"My house," he said and gently lifted his chin up with his index and middle finger. Ruefully, he reflected he'd love to flash one of those at his parents. Butters shuffled his feet and attempted to drop his gaze, but Kenny wouldn't let him. Annoyance flickered in his cerulean eyes now- was he upset at the thought of going to such a dump? Cartman often ripped on him thanks to his income level (_the pot calling the kettle black_, he reflected sourly). Was Butters too embarrassed to admit similar prejudice?

"I don't wanna burden you…" he murmured, gaze downcast. "I'm always bein' told that I'm botherin' people an'…"

To his surprise, Kenny burst out laughing. In the empty hallways, devoid of students thanks to the late hour, it echoed and Butters flinched. Until Kenny relaxed, grinning, the noise was like a slap in the face. Fervidly, his eyes darted back and forth as though seeking an escape. His traitorous feet rooted him to the spot.

"My parents won't even notice you're there!" he informed him gleefully and wrapped his arms around his waist possessively. Butters, nonplussed, stared blankly back. Eventually, though, the grin proved infectious and he grinned back, not quite certain what he commemorated. His hand returned to run through his hair and he tensed, then relaxed. Even if he wanted to be more than friends, at least he was someone. The ache in his chest diminished somewhat. He was _wanted_.

"Are-are you sure?" he replied, but Kenny didn't answer him aloud. Instead, he pressed his lips against his briefly and then ran his tongue along them. Butters jumped, startled.

"Positive." Beaming at him, he waved and skipped down the stairs; thankfully, no more detention until next week. It wasn't his fault- he just had an uncanny knack of getting caught. Still, his detention meant alone time and made him exuberant. He just hoped he had the courage to sneak out of his house and visit.

Butters, meanwhile, stared blankly ahead and pressed his fingers to his lips. Every inch of his body hummed and his lips buzzed pleasantly. Giddiness overtook him and he whooped. Fortunately, no one other than Kenny was in earshot. He had a place to go…someone who wanted him…adrenaline rushed through his veins. Though he wouldn't go so far as to say he was loved, he was desired.

"_Yes_!"

**…**

Kyle glared at Cartman and tuned out his stupid, pointless lecture. They sat in his bedroom, Cartman on the bed and Kyle about a foot away. Every time a phone rang, the Jewish boy started, silently praying it was Stan. He was wrong every time.

What would have happened if he blurted it out? His stomach clenched and he reminded himself steely that the consequences would be horrible. Stan would confront Cartman and Cartman would blurt to the world that he secretly harbored a crush on him. Kyle sighed, trying to work out a safe way to reveal his ploy. He fell deep in thought, his brow creased.

Cautiously, swallowing hard, Cartman edged closer and covered his hand with his own. Sensing no resistance, he edged closer still and closed the gap between them. Wetting his lips, he brushed them against his cheek. Kyle jumped to his feet, but, since one leg had been trapped, he fell over. Pins and needles rushed through and he gritted his teeth.

"What the hell is your problem?" Kyle snapped and rubbed his right leg. "It wasn't enough you had to pull that crap in school?"

"Well, maybe if you hadn't rushed to the bathroom to make out with your boyfriend, I wouldn't have to practice!" he retorted, but Kyle blinked. Behind the façade, he swore he saw hurt. He hadn't done this in front of anyone and he wasn't doing it to prove anything. He was coming onto him because he _liked it. _Kyle thought he might be sick again.

"You don't practice kissing people, fat ass!" he hissed and the phone rang. The two glanced at each other before making a mad dash for the receiver. There was a quick but furious fight culminating with Kyle's elbow in his stomach and a slap upside the head. Wounded, Cartman reluctantly acquiesced though he continued to gripe.

"Hello?" he murmured and cradled the cordless phone. Relief flooded him and he darted to the bathroom. Cartman banged angrily, but it was locked. Finally, a reprieve.

"Kyle?" he replied.

"Stan!" Kyle grinned despite himself. "Why are you calling _here_?"

"Why are you over Cartman's house?" Stan retorted and the happiness faded, replaced by a leaden feeling. He felt like a punctured balloon. Morose, he glared at the door and kicked it contemptuously. Maybe he should have let Cartman answer after all.

"You aren't allowed to talk to him! You _know _what'll happen if you tell your boyfriend!" Cartman growled and his beefy shoulder hammered the door. Kyle blinked and realized due to his girth, he might be able to force it open. It was too dangerous to say anything over the phone, not with him here, and the secret burned inside. The longer he kept this up, the greater the chance Cartman would come onto it. He didn't think he could stomach this.

"You know Stark's Pond?" he whispered urgently, well below the sounds of his pounding fist. Stan craned to hear, but he distinguished the words.

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course I know-"

"Meet me there in fifteen minutes."

Swallowing hard, praying the rotund boy had been preoccupied murdering the door, Kyle hung up.

**…**

**I'd like to thank Anime Otie, Aseret Kitsune, Lilchicky2004, totalmisanthrope, and takeflight for reviewing. If you're reading and not reviewing, shame on you! Make a poor college girl happy!**

**Until we meet again…(and happy birthday, Butters).**


	5. Confession Time

Disclaimer: South Park is not mine, but for you guys in the US, you can see it cut to shreds on the WB at twelve thirty.

Chapter Five: Confession Time

Stan impatiently waited, folding his arms; he tucked his mitten underneath. Normally, he'd say screw it or stand them up, but because this was _Kyle_, he remained. White breath clouds hung in the air- even by South Park standards, it was frigid. Watching his breath collect, he thought of a multitude of things he'd rather be doing, all of them inside. Yet the crunch of snow to his left and Kyle's sense erased all other plans. It was like when Kyle was around; he was powerless to think of anyone or anything else. _Kyle…_

Kyle scanned the perimeter to ascertain no one trailed him. Though he soon affirmed this, Kyle looked both haunted and hunted. The setting sun and time of year ensured the temperature would drop rapidly. Whatever Kyle had to say, he'd better make it quick. He had no intention of freezing his balls or any other part of his body off, thank you very much. (Though if shivering a little meant he'd receive the whole story, he might prefer it).

His pants constricted and he reminded himself steely this was just a meeting, nothing more. Kyle had no idea what passed through his mind, anyway. And unless he spoke first, he wasn't apt to. Nonetheless, he stared at his hat and wondered what his red curls would feel like. Damn it, bad thoughts. Besides, he wanted nothing to do with him until he figured the mess out.

"What the hell is going on?" Stan hissed as the Jewish boy halted close enough to share body heat. Unbidden blushes spread across their faces and they stood inches within each other. _Close enough to kiss..._

"Cartman," Kyle growled and yearned to transform into a dragon to rip him to shreds. Perhaps some of this showed in his face because Stan unconsciously retreated several paces. When Kyle snapped, he hated bearing the brunt. Then again usually it was Cartman's fault.

Snow crunched in the distance; Kyle cringed and stared, seeing nothing but fearing the worst. Those heavy footfalls he'd heard too many times in the past not to recognize them instantly. What a fool he'd been to hold that conversation where he'd overhear him. Why hadn't he tried code or obscured his meaning? Was his compulsion to see him great enough to temporarily drive logic away? What on earth was he thinking?

Sadly, he reflected it'd be just like him to grant him a head start. Dangling false hope and then snatching it at the last split second sent him into throes of ecstasy. Gritting his teeth, he gauged how long he'd have. Unfortunately, he doubted longer than a few minutes at best.

What was he supposed to tell him? Could he bear to confess the secrets in his journal? Would Stan reject him and cast him away because he was in love with him? Cartman insisted Stan was straight and openly mocked Kyle when he caught him staring. Then again, this _was _Cartman they were talking about. He was probably bullshitting.

Sooner or later, though, he'd pry the truth out. Yet enduring it would be like having a tooth extracted. It was remain Cartman's slave and never share his affections or share his affections and risk losing Stan forever. Neither prospect terribly appealed to him, but at least the latter showed promise. Stan might not reject him…he might feel the same…but the chances were slim to none.

"You aren't _really _his boyfriend, are you? You-" Stan began, frowning and shifting slightly. Stormy gray eyes flashed at the thought of the rotund boy that intimate with his best friend. He'd never admit it, but he was insanely jealous. When he'd kissed him on the bus and then again in the cafeteria, he'd mentally shoved him away and tried it himself. At least in his vision, Kyle never vomited.

Plunging recklessly, Kyle decided it was now or never. God knew how close Cartman was and if he didn't take the initiative now, he'd lose his chance. Time was running out steadily like blood from an open flesh wound. Nausea rocked his stomach, completely the unpleasant sensation.

At his side his fingers curled and unfurled. Anxiety clutched his heart and gripped tightly. His knees quaked. Thankfully, if he collapsed, the soft snow would break his fall. Of course, it'd be terribly cold, but beggars couldn't be choosers. No one in South Park had ever fallen on the grass or dirt to his knowledge.

"Cartman's blackmailing me," he whispered. "He discovered something of mine…and if anyone else discovered it, the damage would be horrific…"

Raising his head, anguish shone in his jade eyes. Stan's fingers ached to stroke his face but he restrained himself. Until he discerned his true intentions, he didn't want to risk coming onto him and being rejected. _But maybe one touch…Kyle…_

Kyle neglected to mention the "damage" would be mostly to their friendship and his great fear of rejection. Inside his mitts, his hands sweated profusely and his heartbeat thundered in his head. Mentally, he cursed his hesitation and anxiety. It was like facing his mother only exponentially worse because telling his mother he loved her was downright expected. Telling his best friend was an entirely different story- Stan neither anticipated or, he thought as his stomach churned, wanted it.

"What damage? What the hell does he have? You know if he tries anything, I'm on your side. You can tell me anything," Stan murmured and smiled encouragingly. Kyle swallowed hard and, removing a sweaty palm, brushed his cheek with his bare hand. Sparks flew and his hand slid across his cheek. The raven haired boy smiled back and placed his hand atop his. Neither breathed.

"Stan, I love y-" Kyle stammered and a hard clap on the shoulder sent him staggering. The contact broke between the two and his hand was so frigid, it ached. On his face, he never noticed the temperature.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Maybe I should put a leash on you!" Cartman barked and shoved Stan into the snow bank. Sputtering indignantly, he landed on his back like a crab. Brushing himself off, he rose quickly and glared at him. Electricity sparked between the three, most of it directed squarely at Cartman.

Obstinately, Stan rejoined Kyle and almost roped a possessive arm around his waist. Kyle's words hadn't sunken in yet, but his subconscious understood immediately. It shifted him still closer to his best friend and swung his hand around to knock against his. Their fingertips brushed and delightful adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt giddy, like a kid around Christmas.

"You're blackmailing him?" Stan said casually, but none were deceived. The clockwork in his head trudged slowly forward. _Kyle loves…Kyle loves…_

"You _told _him?" Cartman hissed and yanked Kyle's hand until the bones crunched together. Kyle yelped, punching him away and massaging his tender hand. Stan's gaze burned holes in Cartman's face and he affectionately hoisted his hand into his own for inspection. Both boys' hearts drummed in their chests.

_Maybe…maybe he feels the same way…_he thought, blushing profusely. Stan's fingers caressed his hand inside his mitten. If only Cartman hadn't interrupted…but was there a point in telling him if he didn't feel the same? Did he? The only way to know was to ask.

"You told him you're in love?" Cartman snickered and the color drained from Kyle's face like a popped balloon deflated. His right hand, the one Stan continued to caress, quivered. If Cartman blurted it out, they'd both be finished. _Stan'll hate me…_

"No!" Kyle blurted, panicking. "No, I didn't! I didn't tell him! He doesn't know anything!"

"Know anything about _what_?' Stan interrupted, cocking an eyebrow. He still held his hand and though frostbite settled in, Kyle scarcely felt it. Cartman's eyes darted to their clasped hands and he snorted derisively. Unconsciously, the two shifted closer yet and Kyle had a bizarre desire to kiss him in front of the fat boy and end this charade. At least then he'd be free…

"You're acting like two fags in love and he didn't tell you? Oh, this is sweet! You'll be having sex and he still won't say he's in love-" he quipped and grinned maliciously.

"Shut the fuck up, fat boy!" Kyle roared, fed up. He wrenched his hand from Stan's and propelled himself at him. A melee of fists and feet later, Kyle growled at the heavily bleeding brown haired boy. Cartman panted and gawked. Not that he had believed Kyle wouldn't snap- he couldn't fathom the hatred surging in his eyes. The contrast between the two glances, Stan loving and his loathsome, startled him.

"Dude, are you in love with me?" he asked, finally computing everything. One glance at his face confirmed his query. Again, both boys blushed profusely and Stan proffered a helping hand. Rising awkwardly, Kyle leaned heavily on him, even when he was completely upright. Kyle twisted and Stan exhaled sharply, relishing his best friend's body against his. So close…

Jealousy contorted the rotund boy's face and he looked murderous. Of course his plan would fall through. Of course Stan would have a boner for Kyle. It all made sense- God hated him. God loved to shove someone or something in his face only to yank it away at the last second. God was a worse bastard than he was.

If they kissed, then he would flee with his heart in his hands. Already he saw the intent in their eyes and Stan buried his hand under Kyle's hat and in his hair. Kyle smiled back and they drew closer. Bile rose in Cartman's throat and he despised Stan immensely. If he hadn't interfered…if he hadn't been here…Kyle wouldn't be about to kiss him…this was more than he could stand…

Stan extracted his right hand from its captivity and stroked Kyle's face. The latter shut his eyes tightly and silence descended as he brushed his lips against his. Neither wanted to rush things, but both yearned to shorten the light touch and increase the pressure dramatically. Kyle was the first to open his mouth and jab his tongue at his lips; Stan acquiesced immediately, his own darting out to frolic. Kyle's arms snaked possessively around Stan's waist and Stan's around his neck.

Rooted to the spot, Cartman's whole body lost feeling and he stared, strangely numb. Stan and Kyle made out in front of him and he couldn't move. He couldn't even bring himself to look away. They were in heaven and he finally understood what hell was like. Hell was watching the person you love making out with the person _they _love…who isn't you.

When Stan broke the kiss to suck Kyle's neck, his legs responded and he ran like a bat out of hell. Whatever they did afterwards he didn't know, because he was far away. At least there, he didn't have to hear Kyle moan Stan's name.


	6. It Ain't Over 'Til the Fat Author Sings

Disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I claim no ownership to anything other than this idea.

Chapter Six: It Ain't Over 'Til the Fat Author Sings

Wendy Testaburger glared at whoever had jostled her and opened her mouth to curse them off. How _dare _they ram into her! Her brown eyes fell upon Cartman and her ire rose higher. Typical Cartman to run into her and then never apologize. Typical Cartman to look up at her…like he was on the verge of tears. Okay…

"Are you okay?" she whispered. Haunted walnut eyes shimmered and, to her surprise, he flung himself at her. If she hadn't wrapped her arms around him at the last split second and dug her heel into the ground, she might have slammed against the wall.

From the safety of her bosom (Wendy would have immediately shoved him away if her feminine instinct and the look on his face hadn't stopped her), Cartman shook his head. He wasn't even himself enough to take advantage of where his face was. This must be pretty damn serious. Any other time, he'd be kneed in the balls by now.

"Did one of your stupid plans backfire?" She pressed, but besides a muffled howl, she received no other answer. Growing deeply concerned, she awkwardly maneuvered them to a more private place. People were stopping on the streets to gaze curiously. She had no idea what they made of this situation, but it couldn't be anything chaste.

Unfortunately, yanking him along proved harder than she thought. He was like a sack of leaden potatoes and weakly mewled in protest. She managed to cross the street before giving up, exhausted. Throughout, he clung to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Now not only were they getting looks, people were stopping to watch.

"You have to stop eating so much junk food," she muttered, leaning against a lamppost. To her astonishment, he refrained from snapping at her or calling her a stupid bitch. When he glanced up at her again, tears brimmed in his eyes and his lower lip quivered.

Sighing heavily, pitying him too much to insult him any further, she tugged, yanked, and strained to her house, luckily empty. Once there, she collapsed on the couch and panted. Traversing half of South Park with a two hundred pound adolescent attached to your waist was definitely an exercise in something, though the experience was not one she wanted to repeat again. Yet throughout, he'd kept mum. He hadn't even groaned when she accidentally whacked him against the side of a store.

"Now, what the hell is wrong with…"

The words died on her lips; Cartman proceeded to bawl unabashed on her sofa. Of course, she'd heard him sob many times before, usually over material objects or because he was a spoiled brat. But these were different tears. These were the tears of a broken heart, bleeding onto the carpet and staining the rug.

Awkwardly, she removed his hat and stroked his hair. Cartman blinked and then laid his head against her shoulder. She breathed shallowly, afraid to ruin the moment by exhaling too hard or shifting position. Cartman was like porcelain and if she jostled him wrongly, he might snap again. Odd as it sounded, she preferred him like this- vulnerable. He showed a nasty face to the world and pretended he didn't care, but whatever had caused this he obviously cared deeply about or for.

"Kyle…" he murmured, the first word he'd said since flinging himself at her. There was no trace of hostility in his voice like she'd heard many times regarding the Jewish boy. All she caught was regret, sorrow, and poignant pain. She couldn't believe it, but she pitied him and she wanted to console him.

"Isn't he your _boyfriend_?" Wendy replied, unable to keep the bite out. Like a wounded animal, acidic agony sprouted in his chestnut eyes. Yet despite his pained expression, he never moved away. Wendy represented safety and sanctuary and he had no inclination to leave.

Besides, where would he go? Who would he tell? His mother was too busy with her boyfriend to notice him and Stan and Kyle were melting the snow. The only other person that left was Kenny, but he and the blond haired boy were hardly close. He couldn't imagine himself picking up a phone and telling him he'd lost the boy he'd fallen for. Well, he could, but the reaction was less than savory.

Haltingly, every word like another wrench in his heart, he whispered, "Kyle…is…Stan's…"

Wendy blinked, bewildered. Nonetheless, she stroked his hair and wrapped her arms around him. The boy silently accepted her actions, but was only slightly comforted. He wasn't certain what he wanted anymore, perhaps simply for the pain to stop. Make his feelings for Kyle go away…make Kyle mean nothing to him…regardless of whether he'd been crushing on him since he was eight…

"Kyle is Stan's what?" she said gently, the answer akin to a thorn buried in a bird's wing.

"Boyfriend," Cartman whispered and everything fell into place. She nodded, throat constricted peculiarly, and rocked him back and forth. Like the rest of the night's events, she never quite figured out why she refused to release him and why, when the night came, she fell asleep with him in her arms.

**…**

Stan shivered and rubbed his mittens along his sleeves. They'd made out for a full half hour until the temperature dropped too low to tolerate. Kyle's body heat had permitted him to ignore it, but now they started home. If they were going to be together, it should at least be in a place they weren't going to freeze their balls off.

No words were exchanged- their linked hands said everything anyone needed to know.

**…**

Butters awoke shivering and wondered why his parents had turned down the thermostat. More than likely, it was another punishment for a crime half remembered and so minor, most people would shrug it off. Then again, most people weren't his parents and most people didn't habitually hit their children. Secretly, he despised his parents, but that hatred buried itself deeply enough he never noticed.

Kenny noticed, though, and his eyes narrowed to slits at the thought of them. Then again, Kenny didn't hear their reasoning from the horse's mouths. He never tried desperately to impress his parents, arguing and throwing pots at each other. He never followed his father four years later to discover he continued to attend gay bars and whorehouses. He didn't bear the secret shame or the stigma of being the only person his parents could control, since they couldn't control themselves.

Sure enough, his hypothesis tested correctly. No sooner had Butters flung off the covers and shivered his way through dressing than his parents burst into the room and glowered at him. He innately hugged the closet doors and frowned, dreading their words. They were going to ask him where he was and how he got that hickey on his neck. Once they found out, they were never going to let him see Kenny again. His heart plummeted into his stomach at the thought.

"Where _were _you last night, Butters?" his father snapped and Butters intended to tell him the truth, no matter what it cost him. At least, that's what he originally planned, but his mouth had another agenda. It steered him clear of that path and towards another, the one with Kenny's lips over his and his hands rubbing his back.

"I-I was at the library studying," Butters replied, stunned at the ease with which the lie came forth. "Y-you're always telling me I need to study more, so I spent all night there."

Both stared, unable to think of a single counterargument. The ironic thing was it wasn't entirely lying, because Butters _had _shown up at the library for three seconds while Kenny checked out the Karma Sutra. _That_ part of the story they wouldn't hear, however. He had no desire to be beaten again.

"Oh…" Mrs. Scotch said. Without another word, they left, shutting the door

Butters's head reeled, both from the lie he got away with and the victory over his parents. Thoughtless, he snatched the phone off its cradle and dialed Kenny's number. He was far too elated to care if his parents were listening in on the other line or if the whole town heard it.

"H-hey," he said shakily when Kenny's mother finally, after an earsplitting yell, handed the phone over.

"You wanna try out that book?"

If only it were a video phone…then he would have seen the grin that split Kenny's face into two.

**…**

Butters's parents were, however, not smiling in the slightest. Glaring at the receiver, Mrs. Scotch returned it to its cradle and turned to her husband. He sat agitatedly at the table and tapped his fingers. Charily, he scrutinized the expression ere inquiring. One never could be too careful.

Listening in on Butters's phone conversations had become more common as of late. They were seldom enough, but since his disappearance yesterday, they decided if he wasn't going to tell them, they'd find out on their own. Simply put, if the situation merited it, privacy flew out the window. Besides, they always knew better than him anyway.

"He's sneaking around behind our backs," she snapped like she was his girlfriend and he'd betrayed her. Sparks shot from her eyes and she gripped the microwave door tightly enough to leave nail marks.

"With that Raisins girl again?" he replied, a hint of a smile fleeting faster than it appeared. Her whole countenance exuded fury and extracting her fingers, they itched to snap at something or someone. He sighed, recognizing now was hardly the time for jest. Screwing around with a Raisins girl was not only unlikely at his age, but it wouldn't explain her reaction.

"With a _boy_," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Not just any boy, either. That little pervert, Kenny McCormick. He just called him."

"Now, honey, let's not jump to any conclusions…" he started but never finished. Her ire sufficiently quelled any objections and his rose in accordance. Footsteps echoed above them and she pivoted decisively. This problem must be dealt with now before it escalated.

She had no idea whether he knew what Kenny was or not, but the point was moot. Not only was he not suitable as a friend, but she would not tolerate another gay man in her house. Sure, her husband feigned heterosexuality, but he still snuck into those houses and once, exceedingly drunk, brought one home. If Butters was anything like his father…no, that thought was best left unfinished. She would nip this in the bud.

"Leopold Scotch!" she snapped when she heard him on the stairs. He halted and obediently, like the dogs she trained, headed towards the kitchen. A grin had blossomed on his face, one she wiped out with her next words. Sadistically, she relished the loss of happiness he suffered; she relished her power over him.

"You are not to see this Kenny McCormick now or ever again. Do you understand?" she said, voice dangerously low. Butters shifted uncomfortably and knocked his knuckles together.

"W-what if I don't?" he replied, surprising himself again with his insolence. His father's eyes widened but his mother growled like a dragon. Butters easily envisioned flames sprouting.

"Excuse me?"

"W-what if I see him again? W-what are you g-goin' to do?" he stammered.

"You are grounded, young man!" she replied and, wordlessly, he strode out of the kitchen and the house. The door slammed, resounding in their ears and hearts.

**…**


	7. Can't Break the Cycle

Disclaimer: Thanks for all the reviews, guys. I really appreciate it- and this is the last time I'll be saying this. I don't own South Park (Foster's and FOP popped into my head first, lol).

Chapter Seven: Can't Break the Cycle

Leopold "Butters" Stotch wandered the streets of South Park and bypassed Kenny McCormick's house several times. The latest argument rang in his head and try as he might, he could not suppress his exhilaration at his first act of open defiance. No matter how many times he told himself it was wrong and his parents knew better, the little voice snickered and told him he was wrong. That was the same voice who told him how he _really _felt about his parents and not to let anyone push him around. To anyone who remembered the adolescent at age eight, the voice displayed itself prominently as Professor Chaos.

It was indeed chilly outside, but to his calloused state, it was no colder than usual. He pressed his hands into his jacket and halted, standing in front of the electronics store. Televisions blared, their synthetic lights illuminating the otherwise darkened street. None of them held his interest for longer than a second and he quickly strode away.

In the fifteen minutes he'd spent on his own, the anger had started to dissipate and was swiftly replaced by apprehension. What if his parents refused to let him back in because of what he'd done? What if they really _did _keep him from seeing Kenny? Stranger things had happened. What was he going to do then?

"I really screwed this one up, didn't I?" Butters inquired of his reflection and its pale blue eyes stared morosely back. He searched his face desperately but it yielded no answers. Scrutinizing it didn't even explain Kenny's interest in him. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach and he envisioned acid tearing it apart to its basest elements. Liquid would sizzle along its outermost edge and the result would eat away at it rapidly. The mental image and sensation hardly pleased him, but Professor Chaos shut up momentarily, satisfied.

He wondered if Kenny was getting worried about him. He hadn't called him or explained where he was. Then again, Kenny probably habitually ran off. _His _parents never noticed if he was in the house. _His _parents didn't flip out over the slightest thing.

Professor Chaos piped up again, informing him his parents were too irate to fret over his safety. Butters attempted to refute him and cited the whole Casa Bonita mess when he was eight as an example, but his words rang with a dull truth. Since he was eight, his parents had started getting more and more overprotective purposelessly. He knew (though never acknowledged) that their personal situations were beyond their control and he was the only thing they could smack down.

What were they going to do if he dug in his heels and held his ground? Would they shout? Would they ground him? What good was grounding when he had Kenny to break him out? Delirium nearly choked him- he was beyond their powers. He didn't have to listen to them if he so chose. He could tell them off, get grounded, and then slip out. It was perfect.

His ramblings and wandering feet carried him to Kenny's house where the blond boy sat on his stoop. Inside, drifting through the air by a half ajar door, his parents argued. To his astonishment, no smile decorated his face. In fact, abject misery usually only experienced by Butters slammed down on his shoulders like a death notice. (And they knew he'd received enough of those before he stopped dying once a week).

"Your _parents _are in there," Kenny informed him coldly, tone clipped. He placed a hand on his shoulder as the other boy approached but as a pot slammed on the countertop, he thought better. Instead, he gazed at him mournfully and whispered a cryptic comment before shoving him onto the battlefield.

"I'm not allowed to touch you anymore."

**…**

Wendy awoke in the middle of the night with a weight against her shoulder and arms firmly wrapped around her waist. The clock read twelve thirty, its red numbers deceptive in the dark living room. Somehow, she questioned its accuracy. Everything felt older and time escaped her. Perhaps someone had accidentally tripped the circuit breaker and reset it to their convenience.

"Wendy…" a voice murmured in its sleep and she charily switched on the lamp to illuminate the scene. Childishly, Cartman had wrapped himself around her and his breathing came regular and even. A blush spread across her face and she blanked out on the last few hours. How had he gotten here in the first place? What had possessed her to let him in? Didn't she know his reputation?

"I hate you, Stan…"

The truth and reality of the situation crashed down on her and she winced, switching off the light. In the face of everything, she'd rather lie in darkness. She didn't need a visual assault on top of a mental overload. And he felt rather pleasant pressed against her…

She swallowed hard, neatly arranging the past few events. Then she frowned, listening to his dream accusations. From what she understood to be true (and that might be skewed, considering its source), he had reason to despise the raven haired boy. In the morning, when Cartman wasn't her blanket, she'd investigate further. Right now, she wanted to sleep.

Moreover, she wanted to sleep…with him like this. Her heart skipped several beats. Was she taking advantage of the situation? He was vulnerable, adorable, and dependant on her. Lamentably, he was bound to be his old, obnoxious self in a few hours, but she relished this change. Was it wrong to like him like this? Probably. Was she going to repent? Probably not.

"Dunno what I'm supposed to do…" he murmured, sleep accented. He cradled her closer and exhaled on her chest. Heat rushed to her face and she smiled weakly, grateful he was asleep. Any other time and this would be a veritable nightmare.

Unfortunately, she shared his sentiments. Come morning, she hadn't the faintest clue what she was supposed to do.

**…**

Ike lounged on the couch and barely blinked when Stan and Kyle came in, regardless of their clutched hands. In fact, he yawned when his older brother told him they were going upstairs and nodded, not paying the slightest attention. If someone had told him they were going to have sex, he would have shrugged. It didn't surprise him too much. As the younger genius, he had the enviable position of reading people well and figuring out their feelings, occasionally ere they had the chance to apprise themselves. He was objective…but rarely divulged. That was why he wasn't ostracized amongst Kyle's friends yet.

He sighed, aware he had no love interests of his own. Ah, well. He'd occupy himself with the Cartman/Stan/Kyle conundrum. If he knew Cartman (and he unfortunately did), he knew the boy wasn't going to take this lying down. He'd strike back eventually. Hopefully, someone would stop him beforehand but they couldn't count on that.

Rolling his eyes at his older sibling's and his friend's antics, he resumed watching TV. Compared to the crap that happened in South Park, reality TV was like a badly scripted live action show.

**…**

"This is _bullshit_," Kenny McCormick muttered and stomped off to glare at the piece of paper he'd been handed. Fury burning in his cerulean eyes, he stopped dead to crumple it into a ball and then grind it into confetti. Particles of the restraining order rained down on his orange parka. He flicked open his cigarette lighter and then torched each and every piece. They didn't last terribly long on the snow covered ground, but the scent of burning fire soothed his raging temper temporarily.

"Fucking _bullshit_!" he roared at the open porch door. Mrs. Stotch stepped out and he flipped her off, though the motion was lost within his mittens. He never wanted to hurt anyone so badly in his life and that included Eric Cartman. If someone ran her over with a SUV right now, he thought he'd die of laughter.

Butters stood by the doorway and his morose eyes flicked towards Kenny and then descended on the ground. His courage had failed him. The argument he'd endured had taken a lot out of the poor kid…and Kenny strongly suspected more physical means of "convincing" had occurred behind closed doors. Swallowing back his rage made him shudder and his fists balled. How _dare _they touch him. How _dare _they hurt _his _Butters!

"You see, Butters? You see why we don't want you to associate with him? He has a filthy mouth and a filthier mind," Mrs. Stotch hissed, wrenching Butters' arm behind his back. He yelped and Kenny stepped closer, his countenance positively terrifying. Were more light to fall upon his face, she'd have stopped certainly. Nothing short of murderous intent contorted his features.

"And he's…he's…" Yet here she fell upon a stumbling block. She hesitated to speak, as though saying it would make it irrevocable. Swallowing hard and choking noises that were incomprehensible, she grunted, shook her head, and yanked him by the arm. Butters, eyes pain filled, glanced back at Kenny and, in that instant, some of Kenny's courage escaped him. But this wasn't a bad thing- because it inexplicably entered his lover instead.

"My boyfriend?" Butters suggested impishly, the corners of his lips twisting up in a semblance of a smile. "The first person I've met in years who doesn't expect me to act like I'm told? The first person who doesn't worry when I'm out late because he knows I'll be fine. The first person who _trusts _me…and doesn't give a darn if I'm gay."

"You are _not _gay," Mrs. Stotch snapped, half pleading, half insistent. "I will not have another in the house!"

"Excuse me?" her husband retorted and, in a matter of seconds, the two adults were in the middle of a vicious argument. Kenny smirked, relishing it and then shaking his head firmly, crossed back to Butters. He wrapped his arms around him and they left, caring little for the bickering adults and rules.

**…**

**(Two months later)**

Cartman hadn't forgiven Stan and Kyle, but to the outward world, his taunts were the same. However, Wendy knew better. She also knew that Cartman wasn't liable to tell the world half of the things she heard. A week ago, he'd plucked up the balls to ask her out, she'd said yes, and they were now girlfriend and boyfriend. The healing process was finally working out.

Butters' parents always tried to undermine their son's relationship, but nothing worked. Whenever Kenny came around, Butters defied them and left swiftly. Terrified by their sudden lack of control over everything and anything, they were forced to reexamine their own lives.

And Stan and Kyle? Well, let's just say that before now, melting snow this quickly was just what salt did.

**…**

**Fin**

**8/24/05-10/12/05**


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